


après moi le déluge

by theviolonist



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theviolonist/pseuds/theviolonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She kneels in front of the stone - she was told the dead respond to begging, even though that hasn't always proved true, of late. She rests her forehead against the cutting edge, and she asks them. <i>Am I still being punished? Did I want too much again?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	après moi le déluge

There's no one to ask, so mostly Elena doesn't (it's not like she's rife with parental figures, although she _is_ rife with questions - her track record is actually pretty depressing), but that doesn't mean she doesn't think about it. 

When she catches a break between a murder attempt, the apparition of a new vampire overlord and her romantic problems, she goes to the cemetery. To her parents' grave, more precisely: nothing very original, but she's never been the adventurous one in the family. That'd be Jeremy - or maybe Caroline. 

She kneels in front of the stone - she was told the dead respond to begging, even though that hasn't always proved true, of late. She rests her forehead against the cutting edge, and she asks them. _Am I still being punished? Did I want too much again?_

They never answer, and somehow it's worse than a yes, more damning. 

*

"I'm so tired," she says, resting her head on someone's chest - Damon, maybe. Stefan is still mad at her for something, she can't remember what. It's hard to keep track, these days. 

Damon's laugh rattles in his ribcage. "What, a few murderous vampires is all it takes to exhaust you? Maybe we _wouldn't_ make a good couple."

There is so much wrong in this sentence, starting with the fact that he's persuaded that they would, that he wants her like he only wanted one other thing - person, woman -, and ending with the fact that no, that isn't all it takes to exhaust her - in the end she just says, "Yeah, maybe you're right."

He dances around her to make her reconsider. She tries to follow him with her eyes, but he moves too fast, talks, gestures, and she can feels herself falling. She's so tired. It's not going away. 

*

At church, Elena learned that you could make up for sin by going into a dark box and reciting what you'd done wrong, your voice low and contrite; maybe recite a few _Pater Noster_ at home, before bed. 

At school, Elena learned that you had to be realistic; that if you were arrogant you had to apologize for it; that you should set goals for yourself and try to attain them, instead of trying to eat more than your fill. 

At home, Elena learned that wanting was good, but loving was better, lasted longer, like leather shoes, and would generally get you further in life. 

With all these good, sensible lessons, Elena thinks she must be exceptionally wicked. Finding a way to be selfish among such straight-lacedness seems a feat. 

*

"You didn't do anything wrong," says Stefan over and over, soothing, suffocating her in his folded arms. 

_But I did, don't you see?_ Elena wants to answer. She wants to say she has a list: she could tick them off on her fingers, that time she asked her parents to come and get her, that time she wished her life was more exciting, that time she thought she could have more than one Salvatore and not pay the price for it. That time, too, when she -

"Shh," he says. He kisses her forehead, her cheeks, the corner of her lips. "I believe in you."

 _You shouldn't,_ Elena thinks, but she's probably too selfish to say that, too - instead she presses her forehead to his and lets her shoulders feel heavy, lets herself believe, just this once. 

*

"Take me, then," Elena says. 

It doesn't feel terrifying, or even crazy; instead it feels liberating. Is there a way to fuck up your own sacrifice? If there is, Elena's probably found it. Either way, it doesn't change the bottom of the matter: death is the only atonement. It sounds a little extreme, but if there's one thing Elena's learnt those past few months, it's that blood really is the currency they deal in. Especially her blood, actually. 

Klaus grins, wicked and satisfied, like he doesn't mind the trade-in at all. He reaches a hand for her. Elena, who was well-trained in the art of distrustfulness, shows teeth. Klaus laughs. 

For a second, fleeting but real, Elena wishes she were like him. Everything would be so much simpler if she could just stop caring. 

*

"How does it feel, to be immortal?" Elena asks. 

It's not something she would ask Stefan. She can already see the look in his eyes: not scared but concerned, frantic. He would tell her how horrible it is, that he would give anything to be human again, to be able to _die_ (to live with her, he would say, but she knows that's what he'd mean).

So she asks Damon, instead. Damon is her favorite, these days: he alleviates her tiredness, in some way, lifts the fatigue from her shoulders with his carelessness, his studied nonchalance, the restless energy that lies beneath his calculated sprawls. 

"It feels great." He says it with a grin, almost a dare - _are you sure you want me to continue?_ like she was going to beg him to bite her if he told her. It's a strange kind of arrogance. "It feels vibrant, you can do everything... and blood. Well, you know what I think about it."

She nods, although she doesn't, not really. But she already feels like she's impeded on forbidden territory, like she's going to be punished for even _thinking_ about it. 

*

She is. Of course she is. Jeremy - her sweet, sweet brother, all scarred with hunter's marks and condemned love - dies in her living-room, on her parents' couch. Elena can feel their ghosts weighing on the nape of her neck not five minutes after he passes, already breathing, _we gave him to you to take care of, Elena. We were counting on you. You fucked it all up. You've disappointed us again._

Stefan would probably tell her the voices aren't real. Hell, everybody would tell her that, and they'd think she was insane, but really, is that so hard to imagine? The world has already gone so alien, she wouldn't be surprised if -- 

"Turn if off," Damon is saying. "You'll feel better."

If Elena was thinking straight, if she was capable to think through the tears and the searing pain (she ought to have learned, by now), she would have said no. She would have recoiled, shaken him off. 

They'll blame it on the sire bond, they'll blame _him_ , but she doesn't care. It doesn't matter anymore, because Jeremy is dead, Elena's house is full of ghosts and she's going insane. 

"Yes," she breathes, or maybe she doesn't -- and she flicks the switch. 

*

If one of them bothered to ask her why she doesn't want to turn it back on, here's what she would say: "Do you really think I want to go back to being Elena Gilbert? She was a scared, cowardly little thing. She was weak. She felt guilty all the time, and she couldn't make up her mind. She refused to accept ambition, and want. She was worthless. She was familyless. She was nothing."

As it is, she sips her drink, holding her cue close to her heart and slipping strangers mysterious glances. _No more Pater Noster for this girl,_ she thinks, and she smiles as wide as she can, showing her real teeth.


End file.
